The Tide Has Turned
by randomsquare
Summary: One-shot for tnlph. Captain Swan in a laundromat. Canon divergent from 2x10: The Cricket Game. Not remotely fluffy.


**This goes out to tnlph, who is delightful and kind, as well as extraordinarily patient. She asked for this in October. It's now December. It was supposed to take an hour, and use 500 words. It did… not.**

 **I'm sorry. This probably is not at all what you wanted, either. Sorry again. And yes, that title is a laundry pun. You're welcome.  
**

Storybrooke was a one hat town. One Bed and Breakfast. One pawnshop. One clothing store, still carrying all the latest fashions from the fall of 1982. It would have been almost quaint, if it weren't for the population of fairytale characters, hellbent on making sure Emma Swan never got any sleep ever, ever again.

The call came in at 2am, her phone screen lighting up on the bedstand. She snatched it up before it could make with the bugles. Henry had enough trouble sleeping as it was these days, what with the nightmares, and his therapist being murdered and all. She was careful not to disturb him where he lay finally sleeping on his cot, covers half kicked off and tufts of brown hair sticking in every direction, his mouth hanging open adorably. _Her son._

She'd get her own place soon. One where Henry would have his own room. One where she wouldn't have to sneak downstairs to get changed in the bathroom, or trip over Prince Charming's sword in the living room, as she searched in vain for her Sheriff badge by the dim light of her phone.

It wasn't cool to share a room with your Mom.

He hadn't said anything, but she knew Henry missed his bedroom back at Regina's. His action figures and comics, his X-Box and his artwork tacked to the wall. He was a kid, after all, and video games still beat out living with fairytale royalty six days out of seven.

Pongo had been a nice distraction and all, but there was no way they could realistically keep three adults, a kid and an eighty pound dog all cooped up in a loft meant for one person, before one of them snapped.

And if Emma was placing bets, at her currently level of sleep deprivation, it was gonna be her.

She waited until she was out in the hall before she checked her messages. One of the dwarves, of course. Sleepy, maybe. Or Bashful? Sneezy was the cursed pharmacist, right? Oh, to hell with it. Who could keep track anyway?

The voice on the recording was slightly slurred, probably as the result of an extended drinking session down at the Rabbit Hole, but Emma got the gist. Sleepy or Happy or whoever they were, had seen someone "lurking suspiciously" around the back of Game of Thorns. Probably just a raccoon getting into the garbage cans again, but with The Evil Queen on the lam, and a veritable host of fairytale characters out enacting petty revenges every other day, Emma couldn't just ignore it.

The Savior doesn't get a good night's sleep.

She didn't bother taking the cruiser, preferring to walk the two blocks and let the brisk wind off the harbor shock her into full alertness. Besides, if there _was_ someone skulking around, better to have the element of surprise.

The alley behind Game of Thorns was nothing to write home about. A quick survey of the area by the light of her phone didn't reveal anything sinister. Just the usual, a half-empty dumpster and a small pile of wooden crates stacked up haphazardly behind the back door of the nursery. Not so much as a stray raccoon.

"Fucking dwarves," Emma muttered to herself, sliding her phone back into her pocket. She took two steps back towards the street, when she heard it, the unmistakeable sound of glass shattering against tile. Emma's spidey senses tingled. It was coming from somewhere nearby.

Drawing her gun from where it was tucked into her waistband, she stuck to the shadows as she crept deeper into the alley. It wasn't entirely a dead end, with a narrow space between the buildings just wide enough for a delivery man to squeeze through with a dolly. Gun raised, Emma stepped through the opening, out onto the next street.

The storefronts weren't as quaint as those on Main Street, erring more towards the utilitarian than the cutesy. On the left was Storybrooke's only hardware store. On the right, the town's only dingy laundromat, for all those townspeople whose curses didn't happen to include a washer/dryer combo.

And as Emma took an extra step, she saw the faint glow of illumination from behind the tinted windows of the laundromat. Kinda suspicious for a business that didn't trade after dark.

She paused a moment to ready herself. "Here goes nothing," she murmured.

She kicked the door in, relieved when it gave way immediately with a satisfying THUNK, and immediately let her frame fill the doorway, her gun raised at chest level.

"This is the Sheriff!" she called, letting her eyes adjust to the dim lighting. "And I don't care who you are, you'd better- HOOK?!"

There were a few things Emma had mentally prepared herself for, going in.

Local teenagers caught _in flagrante._ A drunk Leroy, breaking into somewhere he could have sworn was his house only a few hours ago. Even a desperate Regina, finally run out of places to hide.

What she had _not_ anticipated, was a shirtless pirate sat on a bank of washing machines, his hook pinning a piece of fabric to the shiny white surface, a thread and needle held aloft with his only remaining hand.

Least of all a pirate she'd last seen lying unconscious on the banks of Lake Nostos, after she'd hit him in the head with a rock. _In the Enchanted Fucking Forest._

At the sound of her entrance, he turned slowly in her direction, a sly smile spreading over his lips as he raised his hook as well, in apparently surrender.

"Hook?!" she repeated, lowering her weapon in her shock. "What are you…?"

But which question to ask first? What are you doing here? What the hell happened to you? Why can't you just wear a shirt? HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU HERE WHEN YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE ENCHANTED FOREST?

"Hello, beautiful. Miss me?" he asked with a flash of teeth.

He looked like crap. In that he was just as annoyingly attractive as he always was, guyliner and all, but he'd definitely taken a beating, and recently. Emma wasn't one to be caught looking, but he'd taken some serious punishment to his left side, a cluster of purple bruises blooming underneath his skin. Then there were the cuts to his face, flakes of dried blood caught in the makings of his beard.

"What the fuck?" Emma asked, incapable of narrowing down her query. Holding her gun back up, she took a small step closer.

Sure, he might be dangerous. He might not have liked that little bump on the head she'd given him last time they met. The man did like his grudges, after all. But in his weakened state, and with Emma the one holding the gun, she thought she could take him.

Now she had a moment, she realized that he hadn't just wandered in to escape the cold. He'd chosen this space. He'd made an encampment of sorts, with something like a hammock strung up in the corner, with all kind of antique looking supplies lined up neatly against the wall. And on the floor, still evidence of where he'd tried to clean himself up. Blood soaked rags left in a heap. His flask lying empty beside them, cap open, drained to the last. Not exactly what the doctor would prescribe.

In the Enchanted Forest, he'd been the savvy one. Always one step ahead of her. Here, he'd never seemed more like a man outside of time.

" _That_ ," he said, pointing the needle he still held in her direction, "Is a rather excellent question. Any chance you'd lower that pistol of yours, so we could have ourselves a civil discourse?"

Instead, she clicked the hammer back, showing him her game face.

"Pistol drawn is good too. Excellent choice. One question, though. May I don my shirt? I know you appreciate the view, love, but I find myself feeling rather underdressed, and I'd hate to catch a chill."

Emma rolled her eyes, but nodded her ascent. He wasted no time in pulling the shirt over his head, leaving about the same amount of chest hair visible through the tangle of chains hanging around his neck, but concealing the worst of his bruises. There was still a half-repaired tear in one sleeve, thread and needle left dangling.

"What are you even doing here? _How?_ "

He let his gaze wander from left to right, as if considering how best to answer her. "Would you believe me if I said I simply missed you, lass?"

Emma shot him a long look.

"Right. Pistol. No mood for pleasantries. Understood. Do you happen to recall that magic bean I took from the giant?"

"Dried up, dead, useless," Emma said, startling herself a little with how easily the words tripped off her tongue, with a sudden, sinking clarity.

"Perhaps I was a little too hasty in that assessment. Because as you see…" he said, raising his arms to indicate his surroundings, "Here I am, in your beloved Storybrooke. You know, with the Evil Queen's tastes, I was expecting something a little more… grandiose, but it's actually quite small, isn't it?"

"Lake Nostos," Emma said, in realization. "The water, it restored the bean."

"Aye, that it did."

Which explained that. It still didn't entirely explain why he was currently squatting in a laundromat, looking like he'd gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson.

"Your ribs look pretty bad," Emma ventured. "Who'd you piss off?"

A snort from the pirate, one which only served to aggravate his injury, if his pained groan was any indication. "A rather scrappy librarian. Ever met her? Brown hair, yay high, terrible taste in men?"

Emma felt her stomach drop. "Belle? What did you do to her?"

"What did I do to _her_?" he repeated, looking affronted. "She's not the one who had a bloody bookshelf land on them."

"She pushed a bookshelf on you?" Emma had to admit, that was a gutsy move.

"Aye. One of a number of indignities I've suffered today. And you don't have to look so bloody happy about it. I wouldn't have hurt her if I could help it. But she needed to know what that demon really is."

"And by that you mean Gold? The man that killed your girl?" As soon as she said the words, she wanted to take them back. But there was no erasing them, not once she saw his expression turn cold before her eyes, voice as cool as an Arctic breeze.

"She needed to know that Milah was _his_ girl. Before she was mine. And that was why he killed her. Because she dared to leave him."

"Oh my god."

Somehow it was even worse than she had imagined. And Belle, if Hook really was telling the truth, she was in very real danger. Something Emma had learned early, and learned well: If he does it one time, he'll do it again.

"Belle. She's-"

"She didn't believe me. Or she didn't want to believe me. Stopped the Crocodile from beating me to a bloody pulp though, which I appreciated. Though I fear, more out of concern for his soul, than mine. As if the bloody demon can feel at all." At some point, he'd taken to standing, his fist clenched tight against his side.

Emma found herself lowered the gun, her arms grown weary. "You know he has magic here, right?"

"Aye. A delightful little caveat Cora neglected to mention until _after_ we made berth. Naturally. Bloody witches. All the same. Always some bloody stipulation or other they just forget to mention. I swear it's-"

"Hang on," Emma said, interrupting his rant mid-flow. "Back it up. ' _After_ we made berth?' Cora's here? Cora's in Storybrooke?!"

Hook seemed genuinely puzzled. "Did you really think that I could have gotten away with leaving her behind? After everything? Cora's not the forgiving type. If that bean hadn't regenerated, I'd be a dead man right now."

Emma raised her gun again. "You'll be a dead man in a minute, unless you tell me where she is and what she wants."

"Such hostility, Swan," he chided. "And here I thought you and I were having a moment."

" _Where. Is. She?_ "

He shrugged. "I'm afraid I really don't know. We went our separate ways. Or I went my own separate way, at any rate."

"And decided to what? Move in here?" Emma asked, indicating his makeshift lodgings.

"Good rule of thumb, darling. If a dark sorceress knows where you sleep, best not sleep there. Besides, I have a Crocodile to skin. I don't need her warped attempt at mother/daughter bonding on my conscience. Not with the way that woman racks up the collateral damage. I much prefer the direct approach, myself."

"Moth- Regina? She's with Regina?"

"Or just toying with her. Hard to tell with Cora. It was a nice little frame up though, wasn't it? Played you all like bloody violins."

There came a sinking feeling in the pit of Emma's stomach. "Cora killed Archie?"

"The cricket? Oh no. He's still tied up on my ship somewhere, unless that bloody librarian found him first."

"Archie's alive?"

"Aye. Far too useful a source, that one. He does so like to chirp," he added, with a malicious smile that sent a shiver down her spine.

And with a flash, Emma really saw him for the first time. _Captain Hook_. Not the cocky pirate she'd once climbed a beanstalk with, or faced off on the shores of Lake Nostos, but the villain she remembered from her childhood. A man grown sick with vengeance, consumed by it. A cruel man who would stop at nothing to get his revenge, no matter how terrible the cost. She felt sick.

"Is he okay?"

He frowned at the wobble in her voice as she asked. As if it had only occurred to him that Archie might mean something to her. That he might mean anything at all.

"Aye, Swan," he said, voice grown somber. "He'll be fine. But Cora's not pulling her punches. Some poor blighter's body was taken away, no matter whose face it was wearing. And I have some sad news about your Harbormaster. Pleasant fellow. I feel rather bad about that one."

"She killed the Harbormaster too?" The homicide rate in Storybrooke was probably sitting at an all-time high right now.

He furrowed his brow. "Technically, no. She… turned him into a fish."

"Of course she did," Emma muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand. "And you did what? _Helped?_ Or did you just stand by and watch?"

"Would you have rathered I defied her? Get turned into a bloody flounder for my trouble? Not all of us have magic, love. Some of us have to pick and choose our battles."

"How did you-" He'd been unconscious when Cora tried to take her heart. Out cold. How the hell-

"You really think I haven't been keeping a close eye on the Crocodile? I saw that little trick of yours with the hound. Quite the talent, aren't you?"

There was an edge to his voice that she didn't like. Like she'd just been lumped into the same category as Gold and Regina, and left there to rot.

"I'm not- You know what? It doesn't matter what I am, or what I can do. I'm not the bad guy here. I'm the sheriff. And you know what I do?" She asked, pulling her handcuffs from her belt. "I lock up the bad guys."

"You want me to come quietly?" It was amazing, his talent for double entendres in times of stress.

"Unless you want me to shoot you."

"Lass, you're not going to sh-"

The sound of the gunshot startled both of them as it reverberated off the tiles, even as Emma trained the gun back towards his chest. Probably woke up half the damn town in the process, she thought. But as Hook had said, you pick your battles.

"That was your shot across the bow. Get the idea?"

If she wasn't mistaken, a flash of something like pride crossed his features. "You'd make a hell of a pirate, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah. You have the right to remain silent…"


End file.
